As ten o'clock struck, the other two came in, still talking eagerly to one another.
Lord St. Amant sat down by Laura.
"I'm going to have a little shooting party later on—not now, but early in December," he said. "Mrs. Tropenell is coming, and I hope Oliver too. I wonder if you would do me the great pleasure of being there, Laura? It's a long, long time since you honoured the Abbey with your company——"
He was smiling down at her. "I would ask Alice to come too," he went on, "but I think she'd be bored! Perhaps you'll be bored too? I'm not having any very brilliant or wonderful people, just a few of the neighbours whom I feel I've rather neglected."
Laura laughed. "Of course I shall enjoy coming!" she exclaimed.
Oliver was standing by his mother. Suddenly he muttered, "Mother? Ask Lord St. Amant to come over and speak to you——"
But before she could obey him, Lord St. Amant got up and quickly came over to where Mrs. Tropenell was sitting, leaving a vacant place by Laura.
With his back to the two younger people he sat down close to Mrs. Tropenell, and all at once he saw that her dark eyes were full of tears. He took her hand and patted it gently. "I feel dreadfully de trop," he murmured. "Can't we go off, we two old folk, to your little room, my dearest? I'm sure you've something you want to show me there, or consult me about?"
And while Lord St. Amant was saying this to his old love, the two on the other side of the room were silent, as if stricken dumb by the nearness each felt to the other.
And at last it was Laura who broke the silence. "I think I must be going home," she said uncertainly.